


Checkmate

by helens78



Series: Linked [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bruises, F/M, Knifeplay, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-01
Updated: 2003-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first person to own Geils was a woman named Eris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Geils is a character from the RPF AU Chiaroscuro; he's an original character (as are Eris and Anne), but Geils's role in the Chiaroscuro universe is pretty solidly attached to RPF muses (such as Jonathan Rhys-Meyers).

I don't know if it would surprise you to hear that I went to college. You'd probably have expected me to drop out of high school and get my G.E.D. later. I didn't. I did the same things most guys my age did. I smoked, I jerked off, I was fucking glad I didn't have to come up with ways to dodge the draft. Knowing me, I'd've gone and come back wounded.

You don't need to know a hell of a lot about me as a kid. I had a good home life, parents who cared. I've got an older sister -- Cyn -- who I still see from time to time. She knows about the other side of my life. She's met some of my boys.

She's the one who introduced me to the only person who's ever owned me.

But we'll get to that later.

I think I figured out I liked it rough in college. I had this roommate named Mark. Cross-country, thighs like solid fucking steel. Mark had skin the color of midnight and shaved his head; he had a goatee. Mark scared the shit out of a lot of people. We got along famously, from day one. He's the first guy who let me fuck him.

Mark liked it rough. And I mean good-holy-goddamn rough. Mark liked it so hard I always came away afraid I'd hurt him. I think I did a few times, but he told me to fuck off when I asked. So I stopped asking. And I started ignoring that part of me that said I should feel guilty about hurting him--

\--no. What I felt guilty about -- what I felt like I needed to give myself permission to feel -- was that I _liked_ hurting him. I liked pounding him until he sounded like he was straining not to beg me to stop. I fucking loved that.

Cyn figured me out pretty goddamned fast. I remember being embarrassed for about five seconds before I forced myself to snap the fuck out of it. We'd never been embarrassed hearing about each other's sex lives before. Cyn was the only person who knew everything about me and didn't give a shit. And I loved her right the hell back.

But you could've knocked me over with a fucking feather when she recommended a book to me. Said, _I think you'll like it. Think you'll get something out of it._ Don't even remember what it was now, but it talked about boys and masters, and goddamn, it said a hell of a lot of things about things I needed but didn't know how to name.

So then it was the clubs. And I screamed and learned I liked to scream. I liked hearing other people scream for me. I started having idle daydreams about having a boy of my own. Things were incredibly fucking good.

So then everything changed. Cyn set me up on a blind date. Her name was Eris.

Normally I stay the fuck away from blind dates. Most people do, I think, or they should. But I owed Cyn a favor at the time, so I said I'd go. Cyn told me to try to look respectable, and she gave me the name of one of those damned nice restaurants I never go to because they make me twitch. And I dressed up in my one grey suit and went.

Eris was fucking gorgeous. I might've done her right over the table, except she didn't look like the type who'd let me do it without a struggle. ...then again -- but no, that was a bad idea; Cyn would kill me. I reminded myself this was a friend of my sister's and just gave her my hand to shake.

"David Geils."

"Eris Randall."

I sat down, and she leaned back in her chair. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed. No makeup, which was a nice change of pace from a lot of girls. Had amazing arms -- she was solid, built, obviously lifted weights.

Oh yeah. Cyn had fantastic taste. And Eris was eating me alive with those eyes of hers. Jesus.

"So how do you know Cyn?" I asked.

"Heh." Eris grinned at me. "We were on the chess team at school. And we kept in touch."

"Chess team," I repeated.

"Mm-hm. Do you play?"

"Yeah, but Cyn can wipe the floor with me." I grinned.

"You need a board?"

"It won't matter one way or the other. You'll kick my ass." Another grin.

"I probably would." She grinned back. "That's a nice suit, Geils."

"Ah, Cyn told you--"

"Too many Davids in high school? Yeah." She kept smiling at me. "Like I said. Damn nice suit."

"Thanks."

"What's under it?"

I blinked. Couldn't do anything else. She kept her eyebrows raised until I cleared my throat and shook my head a little. "Direct," I commented.

"Actually, I'm being fairly circuitous. I want to know if you're wearing any marks."

I was fucking flabbergasted. Eris didn't bat an eyelash.

"I... no," I told her. "No marks."

"Yeah? Too bad. Bet they look good on you."

"Chess club, huh?" I asked her.

"Check."

I'd never been with a girl who wanted to top before. It's cliché and probably sexist, but the girls I'd known who were even remotely kinky tended to be the tie-me-down and maybe hurt-me sorts of girls. Eris shocked the living shit out of me, I'm not ashamed to admit. Eris was the first person to put me flat on my back and make me want to stay there.

I took her home with me that first night, but there were no illusions: she was taking me, and it just so happened she wanted me at my place. We didn't even touch until we were inside -- I had that one handshake as a taste of her skin on mine, and that was it.

She shrugged out of her jacket; it'd been buttoned up at the restaurant, and I'd had no idea what was on under it. Black leather vest, it turned out, leaving her in that vest and dark green pants and black leather boots and Jesus fucking Christ, I was about to go down for this woman.

"What do you like?" she asked. She followed me through the hallway and into my front room, and perched herself against the back of my couch. "Pain, humiliation, roleplay, head games?"

"Screaming," I told her, mouth feeling terribly dry. "Metal."

Again with the not batting an eyelash. "You ever had a woman put you on your knees?"

"No."

"I'm not going to ask you if you're going to freak out when I get you there. We both know I wouldn't be here if you didn't want me to take you down." Her thumbs were dug into her pockets; she was merely regarding me with cool, sharp eyes. You could see intelligence radiating off this woman. She was fucking amazing.

I didn't have a response to that, so we stayed silent for a few moments. Then she nodded, a couple of times, and tapped the toe of one boot on the floor.

"Ask me for it."

"Ask you for what?"

She just stood there, and a small grin came over her face. She kept a hold of my eyes until I was so hard I ached.

I could see it. Do you know what I'm talking about? I could see it in her eyes. She wasn't going anywhere. She wasn't going to look away. She wasn't even going to fucking _blink_ until I asked for it.

My mouth went dry. I had to swallow.

"Can I go down for you?"

"Oh, yeah," she breathed, grinning. "Get on your fucking knees, Geils."

I went to my knees immediately, as if the bare sound of her voice was a chain dragging me there. I put my hands behind my back, rolled my shoulders back, wished I'd taken my suit jacket off. And she held my gaze, grinning like a hawk, until I couldn't look at her anymore, and I had to look at the ground.

"Good," she grinned. She came off the couch, then, and walked over to me, standing in front of me for a moment before crouching down, her elbows on her knees and her expression a combination of pleased, amused, and predatory. "I think I'd better get you out of that suit," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it wasn't soft, either; it seemed like it drew all the sound in the room to one focal point, as if she were the only thing to hear.

I'd been wearing a tie to dinner; she put a fingertip in the knot and wiggled it loose, finally using both hands to pull it off me. She stood and put it on the couch.

"I'm thirsty," she said. "Where's your kitchen, Geils?"

"Through the double doors, down the hall, to the right."

"I'll be back. You move a fucking muscle and that nice suit of yours is going to need a hell of a dry clean, got it?"

"Yeah," I whispered, mouth gone dry again.

"Good boy." She gave me a rough, affectionate pat on the head, and disappeared.

It's not like I had a lot of time to think. She wasn't gone long. But I did wonder: why her? What was it about her that had me _wanting_ this? I've thought about it more over the years that have followed, and I think I've come to the conclusion that it wasn't just one thing; it was a number of things.

She was fucking gorgeous. There's that. She had a sense of _focus_ \-- I felt like her eyes just drilled into me. But apart from that, it was a matter of being in the right place at the right time. I was ready to let someone take me down and keep me there. I wanted it. All the pieces fit. I was ready.

She came back with a glass of water. No ice. She propped herself up on the couch and took a drink, watching me all the way. After a few minutes, she put the glass down and slid a hand into her pocket. I could see her fingers drumming against her thigh through the fabric of her pants, and she pursed her lips for a moment, then relaxed and pulled her hand back out. Empty.

"Hands at your sides." Mild tone. I unlaced my fingers and put my hands at my sides. "Kneel up." I pushed myself up on both knees. She took a slow circle around me and stopped directly behind me. I felt her fingertips drawing down the nape of my neck, and then they curled into the neck of my jacket and ripped the goddamned thing off me. It was like one of those magic tricks where the guy yanks a tablecloth out from under all the dishes. Didn't pop a stitch.

I stuttered out a breath as she tossed my jacket over the back of the couch.

"Do you read, Geils?" she murmured. I could feel the heat of her body behind me; I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. I nodded, and I could almost feel her smile against my skin. "What do you like to read?"

"Nn. Poetry," I whispered.

"Romantic," she teased. "Have a favorite?"

"D.H. Lawrence."

"Maybe I'll have you read something for me later," she said. "For now, though, I still want you out of your clothes." She reached around me with one hand and started undoing the buttons on my shirt: one after another with almost-lazy flicks of her fingers. When she got to the waistband of my pants, she stopped and drew her hand up to my shoulder -- touching the fabric, but not me. My breath was coming out in soft, shattered whispers. I had to close my eyes.

She unfastened the buttons at my wrists next, then stood up and walked around me again. She put the tips of her index and middle fingers under my chin and tilted my face up; I watched as she licked her lips, just the tip of her tongue coming out between them.

"Take your shirt off."

I followed instruction and pulled my shirt off, pausing only a moment to get the final buttons undone. She took the shirt out of my hands, and it joined my jacket on the back of the couch.

"All right. Enough foreplay. Get naked."

I had to look down; I couldn't keep my eyes on hers anymore. I stripped, very quickly, and she tossed my pants and shorts with the rest of my clothes; my shoes and socks she shoved next to the couch. I went back to kneeling, my hands at my sides, and she nodded.

Approval. Shit, it felt good.

She put her hand in her pocket again and walked around behind me. I heard a rustle of fabric -- her hand leaving her pocket -- as she crouched down at my back.

"You look good this way," she whispered.

"I'm glad."

"Blank canvas. Trying to figure out what to do with you. You like marks, but you like to earn them. You like getting them from bare hands and not something easy like a tail or a paddle." Her lips were so close to my skin I shuddered with the effort of remaining still; I wanted to press back into her lips. "But I think you like playing to the limit. I think you like to go that far." Her fingernails traced lines across the tops of my shoulders. They traced invisible scars from being cut and whipped and marked. She let out a soft purring hum, and her nails dragged across my skin, scratching. Her nails were short but sharp. Pointed, no polish. Christ, it felt good.

" _Ahh._ "

"Oh, yeah, I _bet_ , _'ahh'_." Her laugh was low, not quite teasing. It was a very pretty sound, and it shot shivers straight up my spine. "What's the last thing you wanted so bad you had to hold your breath until you could find words to beg for it?"

"I don't--" I shook my head. "I don't beg."

"You'll learn."

My gut twisted hard at that, and I let out a slow breath between my teeth. She reached around my shoulder and pinched my left nipple, and at first I thought it was a hell of a light pinch. And then the pinch dug in harder and harder, until I could feel her thumbnail in flesh, and I bit down on my lower lip and let out a sound.

" _Nnn._ "

"No." Her grip eased off immediately; her hand came up to my shoulder, and she came to her feet. I thought she was going to walk around me; instead, that one hand on my shoulder slammed me into the ground. It took the wind out of me, but that was more a mental reaction than a physical one. It was my first real proof that she wasn't going to be afraid to put me down hard. Physically.

She wasn't going to be afraid to get dirty.

"You don't control your reactions, your expressions, your actions, your emotions." Her hand was still on my shoulder; she was down on one knee by my head. "You give all that to me. Because you fucking need to. Because you'll fucking die if you can't. You get one word to answer me, one word to let me know I fucking own you as long as I'm in your house. What's that one word, Geils?"

I could have given her several.

'Shit.' For astonishment.

'Yes.' For simplicity.

'Please.' To beg.

'Yours.' Because I was.

I swallowed hard and gave her my word. "Absolutely."

She chuckled, and her fingers danced down my chest to pinch at my sore, abused nipple. "Nice. I give you one word and you take four syllables. Pawn to Queen's Pawn four."

I'd opened my mouth to gasp at her touch; now I had to gasp out several panted, huffing breaths to make the answering move. "Pawn to Queen's Pawn five," I panted.

"Good boy." She nudged my shoulder with her knee and sat back on her haunches. "Kneel again."

I knelt with my arms at my sides again, and she drew my left arm behind my back. I felt warm teeth of metal on my left thumb, and then she drew my right hand back as well, joining the left in what felt like steel thumb cuffs. I tugged against them -- of course I did -- and they held tight. I felt her breath on the back of my neck and moaned softly. She chuckled. "Bishop to Queen's Bishop four."

I could see the board in my head, even though it was hazy around the edges; I took a long breath. Get my knights out. "Knight to Queen's Bishop six."

"Knight to King's Bishop three," she responded, and then there were teeth on my shoulder.

"Oh, _God._ "

No lips, no tongue; I could barely feel the heat of her mouth. Her teeth bit down slowly, harder and harder, the way her fingernails had dug into my nipple. I ended up panting, straining from the arousal, from the steadily-worsening pain. For a moment I thought she was about to go hard enough to draw blood; she held steady just below that point, and kept my skin between her teeth. I could feel the heat and whisper of her breath.

She reached around me, and she took my cock in her hand. I arched forward, hard, nearly shouting, and the scrape of her teeth against my shoulder was hard and vicious and Christ, so cruel I could have come from it.

"It's your move," she murmured.

My move. God. I couldn't think. I shook my head. "I can't."

Her hand slid up my cock; her fingertips teased over the slit, drawing clear sticky fluid over the head and making me shiver. "Yes, you can," she whispered.

"Eris, please -- please, I can't think..."

"See the board, Geils. Fix it in your mind. It's your move." She took her hand away, and for a moment I breathed easier; then she drew her fingers up to the level of my mouth. "Give me the next move and you can lick my fingers clean."

"I... God..." But with her teeth off my shoulder and her hand off my cock, I had a chance. I could see the board. We'd only made five moves.

Get my knights out. "Knight to King's Bishop six," I said, finally.

"Good boy. Lick them clean."

"God, yes--" I put my tongue out and licked her fingers, taking the slightly bitter fluid from them. And oh, God, I'd never tasted better. I sucked her fingers into my mouth--

\--and the fingers were gone, abruptly, and she had a fist in my hair and was jerking my head back hard. My eyes stung from it.

"Did I tell you to suck them?" she breathed, lips warm against my throat.

"Nn-- no..."

"Grabby little boy." She shook my head hard. "What do you think I'm doing here? Do you think this is some middle-aged businessman's fantasy about some brainless twat in vinyl throwing a whip around and wearing thigh-high boots? You think I can't break you?"

"No..." There was no doubt in my mind that this was real. As real as the things I gave the boys I brought home. As real as it had ever been for me. I had every confidence that Eris could break me.

She planted a knee in the center of my back and drew my head back even harder; it hurt, fucking hurt, and I struggled and gasped against it. "You'd better be ready to take this seriously, boy, or I will leave you desperate on the floor and you will never see me again. And tell me you've found a single goddamned person who can put you on the floor this way. Go on." Another rough shake. "Tell me."

"No-- No, I haven't, fuck--"

"Pathetic." She unfolded her body, seemingly all at once, and threw me to the ground. I landed on my side, breathing heavily. "Knight to King's Knight five. Get your forehead on the fucking _ground_ , boy."

I rolled over, flat, and pulled back until I was kneeling with my forehead on the ground. She took a step closer and put her boots in my line of vision.

"Give me your next move and you can kiss them for me."

Knight to King's Knight five. A five. My rook's pawn was free to defend by coming up hard to attack. "Pawn to King's Rook six."

And she sidestepped, in the game and in my home. "Knight to King's Bishop seven. Knight takes pawn." I couldn't see her anymore, not even her boots--

\--Knight to King's Bishop seven.

"Oh, shit."

She laughed, and I heard the rustle of fabric as she took up her jacket. _Oh, God, she's leaving. I made the wrong move and she's leaving._

But I heard her throw the jacket back on the couch, and then a soft sound of plastic tearing.

She knelt down behind me. I let out a relieved breath, and as she ran a hand down my left flank, a pained, panted moan.

"That was a mistake," she murmured. "I'm not going to make you scream tonight, Geils. Tell me why not."

"I let you make a Queen-Rook fork."

She bent forward and placed an extremely soft kiss at the top of my cleft. "Rephrase that. Correctly this time."

I shuddered. "I fell for a Queen-Rook fork."

"Yes. You didn't 'let me' anything. You fucked up. You made a mistake. And now you don't get to beg. You don't get to scream. Now," and I felt two fingers cold and slick with lube press just barely into me, "you just come for me." She pushed her fingers in hard, then withdrew them. Pushed them in hard, then drew back again. It was a hard, rocking, vicious tease, and I grunted, panted, gasped, groaned from it. I rocked back, just a little, and she started moving in earnest, fucking me with her fingers until yes, shit, fuck, yes, oh Christ, I was coming all over the fucking carpet, heart pounding, gasping for air, moaning.

She drew her fingers out of me and unfastened the thumb cuffs. "Well, now," she murmured. "Not bad, Geils."

"Jesus," I whispered. "Not bad yourself."

She laughed at that and helped me sit up, back against the back of the couch. She brought the water glass she'd retrieved earlier and helped me drink, and she sat at my side while I came down from all of it. I didn't lean into her, but it was a near thing. I somehow doubt she would have minded.

"Do you want a cigarette?" she asked.

I hummed aloud; it couldn't have sounded better. "Please," I said.

"Mmm. I like the way you say that. Like the way you say please." She got up and pulled the cigarettes and lighter from my jacket pocket and handed them to me.

"Have you been at this for long?" I asked as I smoked.

"A while now. I'm without a boy at the moment." She looked at me. "I hear you switch."

"Yeah."

"You ever think about being on that side of things for a while?"

"You making me an offer?" I grinned.

"Not like you think," she snorted. "I don't make offers like that on the first date."

"So sorry. My mistake."

"Smartass." She finished off the water. "No. I'm thinking, though, that I would like to see you again. But I don't switch."

"Do you break role?"

"If it's not formal, yeah, I'll break role." She raised an eyebrow at me. "You need time off?"

"Yeah. It's why I don't do formality. No," I corrected myself, "why I _haven't_ done formality."

"Ah." She nodded. "You want to do this again?"

"Fuck, yes, I want to do it again."

Eris grinned at me. "Good. I'll call you." She got to her feet and gathered up her jacket. "I travel a lot on business, so if you don't hear from me in three days, call me and my answering service will have the message forwarded."

"All right." I would have liked to get off the floor to say goodbye, but I couldn't. She grinned at me and gave me a rough, almost indifferent pat on the head.

"Good night, Geils."

"Good night, Eris."

* * *

There are some people who'd say if your second date involves guns, you're probably dating a lunatic. I can't really argue it, but it didn't stop me from saying yes. Eris called me on a Thursday afternoon -- two days after our explosive first date -- and asked if I was free.

"Geils. Eris. You busy tonight?"

Given the way my cock jumped when I heard her voice, and the way it was hard by the time she was finished saying her name, the answer was going to be _I am now_. Just a matter of figuring out the best way to say it. "Not busy, no," I told her. "How have you been?"

"Bored stiff. And you?"

"Stiff now, but not bored."

She chuckled at that. "Geils, you've got a filthy mind. I like that in a boy. So do you ever go shooting recreationally?"

I was surprised by the question, but I really shouldn't have been. "Yeah," I told her. "You want to go?"

"Yeah." I could hear her smiling. "You know the range at Gray's Harbor?"

"Yeah, I've taught a couple classes there."

" _Mmm._ I like that. All right, here's what we're doing. We're going to go out to dinner, and then we'll go shooting, and then I'm going to bring you to my place, chain you to my bed, and fuck you until you beg me to stop."

I let out a breath. "You sure we can't just skip to that last part?"

"Greedy boy. No, we're not going to skip to that last part. But you can pick the venue for dinner. You want to make it something fast, I'd understand."

"Now, here we've got a dilemma," I told her. I ran a hand through my hair and stood up, figuring I'd head upstairs and pack up as we talked. "Because on one hand, yeah, with that on offer, I want to take you somewhere fast. On the other hand, I don't want you thinking I'm cheap."

"I won't think you're cheap." She was purring. "I think you're an eager, greedy boy, and you're going to love being bent over the foot of my bed."

Now there's something that hadn't quite occurred to me somehow. When she said _fuck you_ it had slipped my mind that she could actually _mean_ it. "It's going to be a first," I murmured. I went into my closet and opened up my gun safe; I picked out my favorite 9mm and a box of ammo for it, and shifted the phone to one shoulder while I dug out a briefcase-sized case for both.

"Yeah? Don't play with girls much?"

"Not much." I shrugged and headed back downstairs. "Do you care?"

"Well, it's sweet of you to tell me. But I don't really give a shit, no. Where are you right now?"

"In my living room." I sank down onto the couch. "On my couch."

"You alone?"

"Yeah." I shifted a little and put my right hand on my inner thigh.

"Get your cock out and play with yourself."

I grinned. "Yes, Ma'am."

"And don't be a smartass. If I want you to call me Ma'am, I'll tell you so."

"Sorry," I breathed. I had my cock out now, and my hand wrapped around it. "All right. I'm playing with myself for you."

"Good boy." Purring again. "Leaking yet?"

"Just starting to," I gasped.

"Stroke faster."

The pace I'd been using was my show-off pace, the slow strokes that didn't stand a chance of getting me off until I was ready. The instruction to speed up had me growling a little; this wasn't a pace I could manage indefinitely. "All right," I told her.

"Ohhh, poor baby. Is that going to bother you? You don't think you can hang on to that? Stroke harder."

"Shit." I squeezed tighter, and started counting backwards from a thousand by sevens to distract myself. "I'm doing it," I panted. "You happy?"

"No. I want you squirming on that couch. I want you closing your eyes because you don't think you can stand it. I want you gasping and panting and begging and sweating for me. _Then_ I'll be happy."

"Oh, fuck." I closed my eyes, and I was already gasping and panting. Sweating wouldn't take long at this rate. "Please, Eris, I need to slow down or I'm going to come all over my hand..."

"Wuss," she scoffed, but the tone of her voice was very friendly. "It's been all of two minutes and you're close already? I'm going to have to train that out of you."

" _Shit._ " I panted a few times, and slowed down even without permission. My breathing started to come back to normal. "Eris, please--"

"You slowed down," she snapped. "I fucking told you not to slow down, you worthless pathetic fuck." I blinked several times at the tone of her voice; that was a hell of a lot sharper than I'd heard from her before, even the night she came over to my place and put me on my knees. "Get your hand off your dick. Right fucking now."

"We're on the phone. What are you going to do to me?"

"You want to find out?"

I thought about it, then took my hand off my cock. "Not just yet I don't."

"Fucking smartass. You give me a week and I'll have that beaten out of you."

I groaned at that, and sat on my free hand to keep it from going anywhere. "Shit, Eris. I'm sorry."

"Goddamned right you are." She let out a slow breath. "You're very sorry, but you're going to come get me anyway. Aren't you."

"Yeah. Now?"

" _Now_ , Geils."

It was only four-thirty in the afternoon; either she had plans for me, or it was going to be a really early dinner. I hoped for the former. "Give me your address," I told her. She rattled it off, and I committed it to memory. "I can be there in ten minutes."

"Be here in five." And she hung up.

Now, I'm a fast driver -- and a good one -- but five minutes still wasn't enough time to get there. We both knew that, which made this one of those goddamned tests that you're just designed to fail. Which meant she probably did have plans. Ones that involved me fucking up before I even got to her doorstep. It's a hell of a distraction when you're driving somewhere you've never been before. I was damn lucky not to take any wrong turns.

I parked in front of her house and made my way to her front door; I rang the doorbell and stood back, waiting. She opened the door immediately -- she was in a sweatshirt and jeans, barefoot, and her hair was loose around her shoulders. "Kneel down and crawl inside," she said. Clearly. Without a hint of shame or hesitation. She even stepped to the side of the doorway so she could hold the door open while I came in.

Broad daylight, her front door, theoretically in sight of any number of neighbors. If I'd lost any hint of my arousal on the way over, it was back in place now. And fuck it -- if she wasn't going to hesitate, I wouldn't, either. I got on my hands and knees on her porch and crawled straight forward into her house. She closed the door after me.

"Good boy," she grinned. "I might forgive you for being late. How late are you, boy?"

"Four minutes or so." According to my dashboard clock, anyway.

"Think you could do better next time?"

"Probably not."

"So if I call you and I want you over in five minutes, you're just doomed to fail, huh?" She crouched down in front of me. "Kneel up."

I did, and that put me at her eye level again. "I'm sorry," I told her.

"Yeah. Well, maybe I like having boys who fail. Gives me an excuse to beat the hell out of them later."

" _God._ " I nodded. "All right."

"'All right', huh?" she repeated, sounding amused more than anything. "It's all right if I beat the hell out of you? Just all right?"

"No, it's..." I paused to take a breath. "It's good. I want it."

"I bet you do." She stood up and fisted her hand in my hair; I winced, grunted with the pain. "You still seem like the kind of boy who wants to be taken down with heavy things like chains or with bare hands. No crops. No floggers. A single-tail now and then, maybe. How am I doing?"

"You're dead on the money," I gasped. I tried to push forward toward her hand, and that only made her drag my head off to the side harder.

"Ever been hit by someone wearing brass knuckles?"

"No." _Fuck._

"I've got a knife with a brass-knuckle grip. That might be fun. What do you think?"

"I think I'd end up coughing up blood by the time you were done with me."

"You might. I'd probably want to chain you to the wall of my garage. And make you beg for it first. You sounded good when you were begging." She let my hair go and ran her fingers through it. "You'd sound even better if you were screaming. And you like to scream, don't you?"

I could barely get my lips together to make sound. "Yeah," I whispered. "I like to scream."

"Think you can earn it?"

"How would I do that?"

She grinned. "Are you a better shot than you are at chess or driving?"

I smirked. I couldn't help it. "Yeah."

"You outshoot me and I'll make you scream until you lose your voice. How does that sound?"

"Oh, God." I swallowed. "You still gonna fuck me either way?"

"Yes," she purred. She trailed fingertips over my face. "Because it's what _I_ want. How you feel about it's pretty much irrelevant, except it'll color the pretty little noises you're going to make for me while I do it. I think pain is a color sort of in the dark blue-violet range. Almost an indigo. Rich, deep, like the color of day-old bruises, when they're nearly black. So blue they're almost black. I'd like to hear you scream indigo for me, Geils." Her fingertips were caressingly gentle against my cheek. "I want to find out what indigo sounds like on your lips."

"That's the strangest fucking thing I've ever heard," I whispered.

"I know, baby." She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "And it's got your dick so hard you can't stand it, doesn't it?" She reached down between my legs and squeezed hard enough to make my eyes close. "You know what I wonder?"

" _Unnhh._ "

"I'll take that as a yes." She laughed. "What I wonder is this. What the _fuck_ made you think you could get away with slowing down on the phone?"

"...I don't..." I panted. "Please, hurts..."

"Oh... God, baby, that sounds beautiful coming off your lips." She squeezed harder, and I grunted for her. She leaned in and bit softly at the side of my neck. "It's not quite indigo. But it's certainly blue. Now fucking _answer me_." She let go for a brief, flashing moment, and then squeezed tight again. I panted several times, hard, with the pain. "What made you think you could get away with slowing down when you were touching yourself for me?"

"I didn't--" She eased off and squeezed hard again; eased off, clamped down. "--didn't -- think you'd -- notice--"

"I notice _everything_. Get used to it." And finally, blissfully, she eased off all the way. I was sweating; I could feel my shirt sticking to my back. "You're not going to pull that sort of shit again. I tell you to do something, and it doesn't matter where you are. It doesn't matter if we're only on the phone. It doesn't matter if the message comes in to your goddamned beeper and you're on the job. You get a call from me that tells you to get on your knees, and you _get the fuck on your knees._ You got it?"

"Yes, _please_ , Eris," I said immediately. I looked up at her, and realized I meant it. And I think that was when she realized she did, too.

"Good boy," she told me. Her voice was steady, which was more than mine has been, historically, in that one shining moment when I realize I have to own someone. "Put your face on the floor."

I did, and it must have been clear from my posture how grateful I was that she'd given me an order. She knelt down next to my head and rubbed fingers through my hair, and I could almost hear her smiling down at me. "You want to be good for me, don't you?" she murmured.

"Yes, please, Eris."

"I'll let you." She pushed herself up to her feet. "You stay down there like that. Don't move. You move, I'll know it." Her feet disappeared from my line of vision, and I waited, without moving an inch. I didn't dare. I could get perfectly back into position, without a hair astray, and she'd still know. I believed her.

When her footsteps announced her arrival, I held my breath. Sneakers came into my line of vision, and then she bent her knees slightly and put a briefcase not unlike mine next to her feet. "Go ahead and carry that for me. You can drive. Dinner first. Then shooting. Then we come back here, and... we'll see."

I started to get up, and she planted a foot in the center of my back and shoved me hard to the floor. My cheek hit the floor so hard I knew it was going to go red -- it wouldn't bruise, but it'd be red for a while. "Did I tell you to get up?" she asked pleasantly.

"No, Eris, and I'm sorry--"

"Mm-hm, I know you are, baby. How do you think you're going to make it up to me?"

I thought about it; not easy given the way her weight was pressing down with me and the way my face was shoved against the floor. "I... won't do anything tonight without your say," I whispered.

"How far are you willing to go with that?" she asked. Her foot didn't ease up.

"As far as you take it," I answered. What other answer was there?

"Don't give me a blank check like that," she warned me, pressing down harder. "You haven't been at this very long. You don't know what I can ask for."

"I know what I'd ask for if I were you."

"Geils..." She brought her foot off my back and crouched down at my side again. "I'm not you. I don't know what you do to your boys, and you don't know what I do to mine. Don't think you can gauge what I'll do to you by what you've done to them." She gave my head a soft, condescending little pat, and somehow it didn't bother me -- it made me want to lift my head and rub it against the palm of her hand. I didn't dare, of course. I just waited, and accepted what she was offering. "Now up. Off your knees, on your feet, carry my case for me."

I followed her out of her house; she gave me her keys and had me lock up. And then it was off to dinner.

I decided on a sushi bar, and Eris was terribly pleased with me. I didn't figure out why until after she ordered -- for both of us, of course -- and started feeding me by hand.

The first piece just seemed like a normal, friendly thing to do. By the fourth, I'd caught on. This was how I was going to eat tonight -- she was going to feed me one bite at a time until she'd decided I'd had enough. And I was -- God. I was hard, and glad I wasn't standing.

She murmured small words of encouragement as she fed me. "Good," and "that's it," and when I licked her fingers after the last piece, " _very_ good boy, Geils." I watched her openly, but the rest of the world could go to hell for all I cared; the only important thing was her.

When we were done, she told me to go and clean up; she'd wait. I was still hard, and it made standing an awkward proposition. She caught my arm as I stood, and tugged me back down so her mouth was at my ear.

"Someday you'll please me enough that I'll let you give yourself relief in the restroom before the rest of the night. This time you're going to suffer. You do more than adjust yourself or put it away after you piss and you'll spend the night begging me to let you out of my home. Don't fuck with me, baby." She gave me the world's most dazzling smile, and I grinned down at her.

"I'll be back in four minutes."

"I'll count them."

So did I. In four minutes I took a piss, put it away, and washed my hands -- washed my face, too, since eating from Eris's hands was a messy proposition -- and was back with a half minute to spare. She stood up and smiled at me, and scratched at the back of my neck. So much for any composure I might have gained in my three and a half minutes. "Come on," she said. "Shooting."

I'm a good shot, and I had a hell of a lot of incentive. Eris was a hell of a shot herself -- I was impressed. She had a consistent spread of barely five square inches.

I beat her anyway.

"Nice," she purred. She put her hand over the spread on my target; there was room to spare. "I've got cough drops and tea with honey at home. You ready to need them?"

"Yeah. God, yeah."

"Good. Let's go."

She drove my car back to her place. I'm generally not comfortable with other people driving me around, and this left me nervous by the end of the drive. Eris cuts things much sharper than I do. Sharper turns, less space ahead, brakes faster, accelerates faster. She noticed me looking away from the road and reached over, sliding fingers up my thigh. "You don't trust me?" she asked.

"Should I?"

"Never. Always. You pick."

"Some of each?"

She shook her head. "Doesn't work that way." But she was grinning all the same as she pulled into her driveway.

She handed me her keys and ordered me inside. "You don't have to crawl in, for once," she said, "I'm too goddamned impatient to wait for it. I want to get you up to my bed." I had to close my eyes for a moment, long enough that she caught up to me at the door. She put a hand on my shoulder and shoved me face-first into the door; her other hand went to my hip and latched on tight. "Get the door open, boy."

I had to do it blind, pressed up against the door with her hands on me. There are easier tasks, especially when one is beginning to shake from urgency. I did, finally, get the door open, and nearly fell to the ground from it; she kept her hand on my shoulder, though, and yanked me back up against her when the door swung open.

"I want you," she whispered. "Come on. Down the hall to the right."

Her hand was in the center of my back for the walk down the hall, and I didn't need any more direction than that; she pushed me down the hall and into her bedroom. Most of the bedroom was taken up by a low bed with a dark cherrywood frame. There were already chains looped through the footboard railing. She shoved me down to my knees at the foot of the bed, and I went willingly.

"Eager boy," she growled into my ear. "You're that eager, get undressed. Fast. Keep your eyes on the floor." Her hands left me, then, and I heard her walking off to the other end of the room.

I didn't stand -- wasn't sure I was supposed to -- but I did manage to get out of my clothing for her, folding it and putting it in a pile at the foot of the bed. What I wanted, more than anything, was to wrap my hands up in those chains, and feel how heavy they were -- they were two-inch links, and looked like steel. I wanted them wrapped around my arms and padlocked down.

I didn't hear her come back; when I felt her hand on my shoulder, I jumped. She laughed at that, and I heard her go to her knees behind me. She leaned forward and put her mouth on my shoulder. It was the first time I'd felt her lips on my skin, and it made me shiver all over. My head tilted back, and I let my eyes close and just concentrated on breathing. Her lips were warm, firm, certain -- and then, God, her teeth dug in and just kept digging. I let out a soft moan of pleasure, at first, and then as the pressure kept going, I started feeling strangled cries come out of my throat. She held tight just under the point where I would have started to bleed, and my breath came fast and shaky.

She put her hand over mine and placed it on the footboard; I brought my other hand up to join it. She let my shoulder go and licked over the bite, very gently, almost lapping at it. It was going to mark. She gave it a quick kiss and then leaned around my side. I held my breath as she drew the chain around first one wrist, then the other, padlocking it on both sides so I was held tight. My hands could still grip the footboard, and I was still on my knees.

"Crawl back for me," she murmured. She put her hands on my hips to guide me into position -- she brought me far enough back that my arms were pulled taut and the chains bit into my wrists. I could already tell my body weight was going to make my shoulders incredibly tired, and I had no idea how long she wanted me to stay this way.

Her hand slid down my back, and then drew away. I let out a soft breath when her fingers lost contact with my skin, and she laughed at me.

"Eager, greedy boy," she murmured. "How badly do you want this?"

"What are you asking me about?" I whispered.

She dug fingernails so hard into my hip that I could feel the bruises welling up under the crescents of her nails. I gasped and yanked against the chains; they rattled and held tight. "Everything," she hissed. "How badly do you want me to hurt you? How badly do you want me to fuck you? How badly do you want to be mine?"

I was set to answer until she let out the last question; that stopped me in my tracks, and I went silent. My face expressed everything, though; her fingernails were hurting me badly enough to make me pant. I let out several breaths in my attempts not to make noise.

"Silent tonight?" she asked. Her fingernails eased out of my hip, and she drew her hand back and slammed it down across my ass. It was a very fucking hard blow, for all that it was openhanded, and it shoved me forward -- I nearly lost my balance from my knees. My skin stung, and I couldn't help the startled cry I let out. "Not so silent after all," she purred. "Good. I don't want you to be silent. I want to hear you."

She had two fingers against my opening, then, and began working them inside. I felt lube -- cold and slick and a lot of it -- and she was obviously prepping me to be penetrated. I closed my eyes, startled by the surge of interest that welled up in me from the thought. Smaller, softer cries were coming from my chest at that point, and I let them out into the room without trying to block them off.

Then her fingers were gone, and her nails were digging into my hip again. A short gasp came out, and a groan, louder than any of the noises I'd made yet.

"Ask me for it."

"I..." I swallowed. "Eris, please--" It took a moment for the words to come. "--fuck me."

"You don't sound entirely convinced," she said, sounding as if she was grinning widely, "but I think I want you too much to give a shit whether you're convinced or not. You're chained to the foot of my fucking bed, Geils. Like it or not, I'm going to fuck you." She drew her free hand around my hip and caught my cock with it; she stroked a few times, drawing a desperate cry from my lips with every stroke. "I think you're going to like it."

"Please," I whispered. "Please, I want it."

"Good boy." I felt the dildo pressing against my ass, then; I'd taken cocks bigger and I'd had smaller ones. Nothing remarkable about it, except that it was on a woman, and God, I did want it. I wanted her to fuck me. I tried to arch back, but I was already back as far as I could go. I tugged at the chains in mild frustration.

"Sshhh. It's all right. I'm here. I'm going to give you what you want." I couldn't tell if that was irony or certainty or some combination of both; as I was trying to sort it out, she began pressing forward. I gasped at the feel of it; her "cock" was more rigid, a little colder than it should have been, but it was still filling me, one solid inch at a time, and I was desperate for more, but couldn't move to take it.

She didn't tease, though she could have; she simply kept gliding forward until I was full, and she was buried to the hilt. It all felt so different -- there was space between us, this apparatus between us, but still, we were _connected_. She was fucking me, and I wanted it badly. "Please," I whispered. "Harder."

"You want it? Come take it."

I strained backwards and got nowhere. She drew back an inch, and I groaned, feeling cheated. "Damn it..."

"Come take it," she taunted. "Is that as far as your arms stretch, Geils?"

"Eris, please, _please_ fuck me."

"Fuck yourself," she shot back. "I know those arms of yours can put you back further. So it'll hurt. You'll fucking love it. Your arms will spend days thanking you. Or cursing you. Or both. Come on, Geils. _Fuck yourself._ "

I jerked back as hard as I could; my wrists screamed against the movement, but I took that last inch for a brief second before I had to give up and move forward again. "Jesus," I breathed.

"Hurt, didn't it? Do it again."

"Eris, please..."

Her nails dug into my hips, both sides this time. I cried out and shoved back, which only made me cry out louder. My wrists, shoulders, back -- all of them were going to curse me after this. When I moved forward, it dug her fingernails into my hips all the harder. _Jesus Christ._

"Fuck yourself until you come from it," she growled. And it wasn't the pain, or the fucking, that had me close then -- it was the growl. The order. I gasped and arched, then shoved back hard.

More cries, more pain; more rough shoves backward, more satisfying lunges against her. I begged her, in the end; I began begging and couldn't bring myself to stop. "Eris, please, let me come for you. Please. I need to come, _please_. Let me come."

I heard her breath picking up as I begged, as the cries fell from my lips. With sudden ferocity, she pressed herself forward and began fucking me in earnest. One of her hands left my hip for my cock and began stroking me off roughly, with no rhythm to it at all.

"Come on, then. _Do it_."

It was more than enough; opening my mouth so I could scream for her, I came all over her hand, pressing back and embracing the pain and the way the links dug into my arms. She was crying out behind me, lusty, almost angry cries as she fucked me hard; after a few moments, she went still against me, collapsing on my back. I groaned; the added weight only hurt my shoulders more. Still, I wasn't going to ask her to go anywhere; having her against me was one of the best feelings I'd had in recent memory.

"Stay here tonight," she whispered. "Stay with me."

"I'll want breakfast," I warned her.

"I'll let you have it."

"I'll want to fuck you."

She chuckled against my back. "Don't know that you'll get _that_ yet."

I'd figured as much. My arms were beginning to shake from the strain, and she felt the tremors; she pulled back, making me gasp. "Crawl forward," she said. "Get the weight off your arms."

I did so, and she ran her fingernails down my back. "Good boy," she murmured. I heard velcro unfastening -- unstrapping herself, no doubt -- and then she came forward to unlock me. First one wrist, then the other; she helped me up to a kneel and rubbed her hands hard into my shoulders.

I blinked; having her move into my vision that way was the first time I'd seen her naked. Shit, she was fucking gorgeous; athletic and trim and curves anyway. That saying about palms itching to touch someone? That was how I felt seeing her. I kept my hands still, not without effort; I wanted to touch her so badly I could taste it.

"Come on," she said. "You'll make a decent pillow."

And she meant it; she put me flat on my back and curled up all around me as if I were her pillow. "Don't move," she murmured sleepily. "You'll wake me up if you move."

"I won't move," I whispered.

"Good boy."

It didn't take long for her to find sleep. It took me significantly longer, wondering if somewhere over the course of the night, I'd promised myself to her. Wondering if I'd somehow given her myself far more than I'd intended.

* * *

Eris wanted me to be hers. We hadn't talked about it or discussed terms. I'd spent more than one night at her home, now, either on my back with her curled around me or at her feet, stretched out across the width of her bed. She'd fucked me twice, that first time at the foot of the bed, and then once with me on my knees with my arms suspended over my head, wrapped in chains again.

She'd promised me I'd scream. I'd begged; I'd nearly broken down in tears from the begging. But I hadn't let loose with my screams. Hadn't felt my voice bouncing off the walls and echoing back into my ears. I wasn't quite sure why she'd never dragged screams out of me. She kept promising; she wouldn't deliver. I was beginning to think something I'd put out of my mind at the beginning when we'd first met -- that maybe she had soft spots. That maybe she simply wasn't willing to take me far enough to scream.

She was strong enough, and fast enough. But maybe she wasn't cruel enough. I wasn't sure. She'd been cruel enough to put me on the floor of her garage, on my knees, and cruel enough to clip the chain to the wall at a height that left my shoulders and back stretched painfully while she ground my face into the wall and fucked me with hard, long strokes that seemed to go on forever. But when she was done with me -- before she let me come -- she'd had me chained down like that, and did nothing. She could have bitten me hard enough to draw blood, could have used the flats of her hands or her fists on me, and she did neither. Instead she turned me around and wrapped her hand around my cock, fisting it a little too tight, and jerked me off while she looked into my eyes. I came, shouting, the moment she told me to, and still it wasn't enough.

Not enough. I was beginning to suspect nothing would be enough, and it hurt. I wanted her. Badly enough I couldn't breathe sometimes. Badly enough that when I lay on my back in her bed, when she was curled around me, I had to grind my teeth against the urge to roll her to her back and simply _take_ her. Oh, God, I could have taken her. She was asleep; it would have taken her a few precious seconds to get herself awake, and I'm fast -- I could have been inside her, fucking her, before she knew what was happening. Then she would have had to claw at me, teeth snapping out at me, eyes flashing, furious under me while I fucked her until we were both raw and bruised from it.

I was tempted. Beyond tempted. But I didn't know what would become of us if I did it. Would things be over, or would it only be the beginning? I suspected the former, and that kept me from doing it. Eris did not switch.

This morning she was stretched across me; I was serving as her pillow, her warmth. Eris didn't move much when she slept; she was fairly content to lie on me, though somewhere in the middle of the night she generally turned away from me, only to come back and lie across me again when she began to come awake in the morning. If I'd wanted to leave, I could have gone at any time after she rolled away from me; Eris slept heavily. I didn't know what results that would have, either, though I suspected it would court less disaster.

She came awake slowly, as usual, her hand beginning to explore me before her eyes were open, the leg that was slung over my thighs nudging up so she could rub her knee against my cock. She pulled back a little and pressed hand and knee against my side, roughly.

"Get on the floor. Put your face on the floor, get your hands behind your back. Lie flat. Don't move." Her voice was thick, raspy; she hadn't even opened her eyes yet. I slid out from under the covers -- it was a cold morning, and I shivered as my skin contacted the hardwood -- and took my position on the floor, grunting as my muscles protested the action and my skin protested the cold. I heard her sit up in bed, and then climb out of bed and go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I heard the sink running, then the shower.

I thought about moving. Thought about forcing her into punishing me; wondered if that would get me what I wanted. Cruelty. But I didn't want it to come from that. I didn't want her hurting me because I'd pushed her into doing it. If we had to build a relationship around that, what would be the point? No. I wanted to feel her hurting me because she wanted it. Because she was willing to go that far with me. I was ready to be patient and wait to see if she could give me that, but not for much longer. Sooner or later it was going to be time to discuss arrangements, and there was no way in hell I'd agree to come here and be hers without knowing for certain she could make me scream.

The shower stopped, and I heard her footsteps on the floor next to me. I felt cold drops of water pattering down on my back. I tried not to flinch at them.

I heard it, felt it, even, when she crouched down next to me. "I'm tired of this," she murmured.

I felt my chest tighten at that. It's not that I hadn't thought of backing out on her, but goddamnit, I wanted to be the one who put an end to it. Maybe that was stubborn of me, but hell. I wanted it to be my decision, not hers. "Tired of what?" I asked.

"Tired of sending you home in the mornings. I want to keep you, Geils."

I said nothing, but the knot in my chest eased considerably at that. And then made itself known again. Now was the wrong time for this conversation. I didn't know what in hell I wanted. I didn't say a word.

Her fingernails scratched through the hair at the base of my neck, and ruffled through it the wrong way. "Tell me what you're thinking."

I took several seconds before responding. She was patient; she simply kept scratching at the back of my neck, making me shiver. "I'm thinking if I come here, I'm not going to end up screaming much."

Her hand drew away, and we stayed like that for a while. I could hear her breathing, though it was a quiet sound. Eventually, she put her hand on my back, lightly, moving with the rise and fall of my chest.

"You don't trust me," she said eventually.

"I trust you too much," I corrected.

"You don't trust me to be able to give you what you need," she elaborated.

"I haven't seen it happen yet."

"Hmm." She took her hand away again; I heard the warm wet sound of her licking at her fingers, and then she straddled my thighs. I felt her opening me, spreading my ass with one hand while her fingertips --three of them -- pressed into my opening. "Arch up and take it. Keep your head on the floor."

I arched into it, and she stabbed into me. I groaned -- nowhere near enough lubrication for this -- and she started thrusting in hard, twitching her fingers inside me and making me see stars. I panted into the floor, moaning; it was hard, and rough, and too fast, too much, and fuck, yes, it hurt, but this wasn't going to do it. This wasn't enough. I went silent.

She noticed, and brought her other hand down against my ass, slapping me hard enough that I jerked and tried to press down, away from her fingers. She followed me down, simply thrusting harder, twisting her fingers now, her knuckles opening me, stretching me. I moaned at the sensation, and she laughed at me. "Can you come from this? Do you want to come from this?"

"I don't know," I gasped. "Don't know if I can. Want to."

"Mm-hm." She leaned over my back, levering her fingers in harder, and I felt her squirming, grinding her hips down. "I thought you'd need something sharp," she told me. "Thought you'd need me to prove myself before coming here and agreeing to be mine." Her hand moved faster, and the spit was nearly dry now; it was beginning to burn. I moaned into the floor. "Put your hands down, Geils."

I took my hands away from my back, putting them down at my sides, and she stretched out fully over my back, hips thrusting against her own wrist, hand moving in my ass. "Now," she said. "Push up."

"Push...?"

"Get your hands and feet under you and push up. While I'm fucking you this way."

I groaned; getting myself sorted out from a prone position was uncomfortable, and not easy with her weight on me. I eventually got my hands and feet under me, though, and pushed up solid, lifting us both off the ground. It made my ass clench around her fingers; she shifted so she could stroke against my prostate, and I groaned, nearly collapsing at it.

She was grinning against my shoulder. "Didn't say to stop, boy."

"I don't understand."

"Drop and give me sixty. Or eighty. Or until I fucking tell you to stop." Her fingers brushed that spot again, and I threw my head back and groaned from it.

Push-ups are fine. Push-ups with someone on my back aren't easy, but they're doable. Unnamed numbers of pushups with someone on my back who's fucking me with dry fingers -- Jesus. I lasted through four before my arms began shaking, and those four were jerky, imprecise movements.

"You're going to have to do better than this," she murmured. "Keep going."

"I can't."

"Keep going," she repeated. "Don't you ever fucking tell me you 'can't' do something."

"Eris, I -- Christ," I begged, "please, I can't--"

"What the fuck did I just say to you?" She rammed her fingers in, jabbing them against that spot so hard I cried out and saw stars. Jesus. "Do it. Now."

I lowered us down and pushed us up again, and tears stung at the corners of my eyes; I was going to fall. I was going to fail. It was only a matter of time.

"Keep going."

"Please," I whispered, "God, _please_ , please, Eris, fuck..."

" _Keep going_."

I lasted another six before collapsing onto my face; her movements picked up, and she was panting in my ear, grinding against me. "No --stamina," she panted, "such an -- untrained boy -- worth something, but -- nnn -- not as good as you will be. Not by half." She nipped at my shoulder, and then finally arched against me and came; her free hand flew up and her nails dug into the flesh of my upper arm, making me cry out in surprise and pain. Her fingers jabbed into me so hard I threw my head back, yelling in broken grunts.

"Nice," she purred. She dragged her fingers out of me -- drawing another groan from my lips -- and then slapped my ass, hard. She rolled to my side and shoved at my hip and shoulder, pushing me so I knew to turn over.

She wrapped a hand around my cock and stroked hard, skin dragging against skin. I groaned; pleasant and unpleasant, all at once. "Give it to me," she hissed. "Come. _Now._ "

And I did -- had to -- needed it. I thrust up into her hand, and threw my head back, and shouted wordlessly as I came over her hand, come slicking her strokes as it fell over my cock, one jet after another.

She didn't stop; not after I'd finished, not while my cock was jerking in her hand, not when the look on my face went from pleasure to pain to agony. I reached down for her hand, and she grabbed my hand away, pinning it to the floor with her knee, and then reached up to snatch my hair in her fist. "I'm not done," she growled.

I was panting out small gasps with every stroke -- God, it hurt --and my eyes were tearing from the grip she had on my hair. "Please," I gasped out, "need -- please -- stop -- Eris..."

" _No._ "

More small gasps; I squirmed under her hand and tried to get away. There was nowhere to go. She slammed my head back against the floor. "Mine," she hissed. "I'm not done."

I don't know how long it took before agony bled over into electric, breathtaking need; the come on her hand was beginning to grow sticky, though, and still she didn't stop. A rough twist at the head of my cock; a long glide down. Over and over, until I could hardly breathe, and finally stopped struggling.

"Can you come again?" she murmured.

"...nn... Don't know," I panted.

"We're going to find out. I can wait." She kept going, hand kept gliding on my skin. I twisted under her, finally struggling just to feel her pin me down, to have her slam my head hard into the floor and then lean up, straddle my thighs, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Your hands don't leave the floor," she whispered. "You keep them on the floor."

"Eris," I gasped, "Eris, take me. Please. Want you."

"Fucker," she bit out. "I want to take you. But I won't. Not until you're mine."

"Please, Christ, want to be in you. Take me. Begging. Want it so bad."

" _No,_ " she repeated. "You're not mine yet. When you're mine, I'll take you until your dick is raw from fucking me. But not until you're mine."

"Don't know," I gasped. "Don't know if I'm ever going to be yours."

" _I_ know," she gritted out, "and if you want to trust me on it, I'll take you. If you need me to prove myself, you get this. Just like this. Until you come again from it."

"Haven't screamed," I whispered.

"Fuck you. You'll scream for me."

"All talk."

Her nails bit into my cock as she drew her hand up with the next stroke, and I tried to arch, but her hand pinned my shoulders down to the floor. " _Jesus_ ," I managed. "Fuck."

"And you think I'm all talk. Fuck you, boy." Another rough stroke with fingernails dug in; I let out a desperate moan, but not a scream. Not yet.

"Please," I whispered. "Take me."

"You never fucking stop. So fucking greedy. Not. Until. You're. _Mine._ "

I clutched my hands into fists as she kept stroking me, her nails scratching me all the way. "Fuck," I panted, "fuck -- fuck -- Eris --close--"

"Goddamned right you're close. Come on, then. Come all over my fucking hand, boy."

I groaned, and orgasm took me. It was longer before the jets came, and the orgasm itself was longer, more cruel coming on the heels of the last. I moaned, squirmed, panted, begged her to let me go. "Please," I whispered, "Eris, please, stop -- stop, Christ, I can't take it."

"You don't get to say," she snapped, but she let me go anyway. I breathed deep, relieved, finally, and she climbed off me. "Go shower. Get cleaned up."

I hesitated a little too long, and her hand shot out and slapped me across the face, leaving wet trails of my come on my cheek. I grunted and pushed myself to my side, blinking my eyes open as I forced myself to my feet.

By the time I was done with my shower, she was out of the bedroom. I could smell coffee, which meant she'd probably gotten dressed and was undoubtedly making breakfast. I dressed in last night's clothes and followed her out to the kitchen. She was standing at the stove, making bacon, eggs, toast in the toaster. I sat down at the table, and waited -- this, too, had been part of our routine. She didn't let me cook for her.

She brought me eggs and bacon, then got another plate and brought some over for herself. The coffee was already on the table; neither one of us bothered with cream or sugar for it. When the toast popped up, she inclined her head; I went over and brought the toast back to the table, along with the jam she liked -- a raspberry -- and a knife to spread it.

"You don't trust me," she said, almost noncommittally. Not quite. She didn't quite manage to pull it off. She went ahead and put jam on her toast, and took small, almost delicate bites as she watched me eat.

I took my time in answering. We'd already tread this ground, but maybe she wanted me to say it when I wasn't flat on my back under her. "No," I said, finally. "I think you make a hell of a lot of promises, and aren't keeping any of them."

"Fucker," she said; no tone attached. She kept eating, and when she was done, picked up her coffee cup in both hands and leaned back. "All right. Here's what's going to happen. It's--" She checked the clock on the microwave. "--ten-fifteen in the morning. By eleven, we're going to be out of this house. By eleven, you'll give me an answer on whether you're staying or not. So let's discuss terms, because I already know damn well I can make you stay."

I shook my head, but there was no reason to argue this. Discussing terms wasn't an agreement, and I wasn't willing to dig my heels in again for no particular reason. "Fine. Terms?"

"You won't be living with me. I travel too much for that to make any sense whatever. But you're going to be on call. If I call you, if I page you, if you get a postcard in the mail, you drop what you're doing and you get on your knees for me. I don't care if you're in the middle of the grocery store or driving down the road. Don't care if it's midnight, noon, or three in the morning. You stop and you wait for me to tell you what you're doing."

"All right," I murmured.

"You don't touch yourself unless I say, you don't come unless I say, and you don't take other lovers. You're mine." She put her coffee down. "Mine, and I can use you or give you away or tell you to fuck anyone I choose."

I nodded at her. Fine.

"You have no safeword. I promise not to expose you to any life-threatening situations -- I'm not going to let you choke to death on your own blood -- but apart from that, you don't get to call stop. If I want to mark you, you get marked. If I want to break you, you get broken."

"More promises you're not going to keep?"

She grinned, looking down at the table for a moment. "Maybe, yeah," she admitted. "You never know."

"All right. If I'm yours, I agree to that."

"Good. I want you for six months."

"All right."

"Take your dick out."

I did, if almost gingerly; she sat back and regarded me for a moment, then nodded. "Put your left hand flat on the table here and start jerking off."

I hissed as I wrapped my right hand around my cock; the strokes caught against the scratches from earlier, and it hurt and felt goddamned great all at once.

"I don't want you to stop until you come." She traced her fingertips over the back of my left hand. "I want you to tell me when you're close."

It took a while; it had been some time since the two orgasms on her floor, but not long enough to make this easy. She watched me steadily, and I began thinking about what it would be like to pin her down to the ground and fuck her. Maybe up against the counter, taking her from behind. _Fuck._

"I'm close," I murmured.

She came to her feet and dragged her fingers through my hair. "Don't stop," she whispered. "Don't stop jerking off."

I nodded, and she leaned down and bit hard at my lower lip. I grunted, eyes beginning to close from it, so close I could taste it.

She took a step back, and put her hand over the back of my left hand, pinning it firmly to the kitchen table. "Don't stop," she whispered again. "Come for me. Now, Geils."

And she slid her fingers under my left pinky.

And yanked back.

I screamed, trying to jerk away. She had my hand pinned down; I wasn't going anywhere. I was coming all over myself, coming all over my hand, and my whole left arm was lit up in absolute fucking agony. Screaming. Hoarse with it. I could hear my shouts bouncing off the fucking walls. Fucking God, fucking Christ, I jerked under her hand and was in tears before I came back to myself, head tilted forward, body tilted forward, begging as fast as I could.

"Hold still," she growled. "Don't move a fucking muscle." She pushed my hand away from my cock, and wiped me off with one of the napkins from the table. I was panting, sweating, eyes squeezed shut tight. She tucked me back into my pants, zipping them up for me, and then put a hand on my cheek. She waited, until it was clear she wanted me to open my eyes for her.

I could barely breathe. I blinked my eyes open, and she came forward and kissed me, her hand going back to pin my wrist to the table. I kissed back hard, desperately, my good hand going around her waist.

"Mine," she hissed against my lips. "Aren't you, Geils?"

"Please," I begged.

" _Say it._ "

"Yours," I got out. "Please. Help me."

"Come on," she said. She let my hand go and took a step back. "I'm taking you to the hospital. We'll get that set. Fixed."

I stood, though it wasn't easy, and I cradled my left hand gingerly in my right. She took her keys off the hook on the wall and opened the door for me, letting me leave first. She opened the car door for me, too, and helped me get in, helped me with my seatbelt. She bit down hard on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. "Mine," she repeated.

"Yeah," I whispered.

She slammed the door shut. And I closed my eyes and grinned.


	2. Endgame

Her voice is just like I remember it. We haven't spoken in something like six months, and I haven't forgotten anything about her.

"Geils, it's me. Can I come see you?"

I close my eyes. I have to. "Tell me what for," I murmur.

"I lost my boy. I need a friend. Need you. Please."

"No roles," I tell her.

She lets out an annoyed little snort. "I'm not looking for that," she tells me. "I just want to fucking cry on your shoulder for a while. If it'll fuck you up too badly to see me doing that, let me know and I'll come up with someone else to call. I--"

"Eris, stop. Stop." I take a deep breath. "Come over."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

"It takes seven," I say softly, teasing.

"I'll be there in five."

And damn if she's not. I don't know how she managed it, but there she is, pulling up into my driveway in five minutes' time, her little blue Maserati coming to a quiet halt. I always expect her to screech her tires; she never does, not even when she's so pissed off she can't see straight.

She climbs out of the car and sees me standing on the porch, and half-walks half-jogs up the walkway to me. "Hey," she says.

"Hey." I wrap an arm around her and tug her close; she just melts into me.

She never did that when I was hers. It shouldn't make me nostalgic. It doesn't really make me miss her, not exactly, but it does make me think about what we did and didn't try. Where we didn't go. Where the lines were.

* * *

I think I could have stayed with her if she could have kept breaking me the way I needed to be broken. I'm not sure. When our six months were up, she sat me down at the kitchen table and ran her fingers over my face. I could barely sit up straight; she'd bruised me, beaten me, cut me the night before, and I was grateful. It was odd sitting up next to her; I should have been at her feet.

She said, "I can't keep this up forever." And I knew what she meant; I didn't really need her to elaborate. She was calling an end to it, an end to _us_ , and that was enough for me.

She wanted to explain. I really didn't want to let her; it's always a tough thing when you find out you've had six great fucking months and those months weren't what you thought they were. I thought she was getting as much out of it as I was, that the taste of my blood suited her the way it suited me.

It didn't. And God, I was angry when she told me that.

"I don't want to keep breaking you."

"That's fine. No, _stop_ \-- I don't need to know any more."

"Geils -- David. Please."

" _Geils_ ," I corrected, voice like ice.

"Geils. I can't do it on this level every time we're together. I can't go into every scene with you prepared to break bones. I don't _want_ to go that far anymore."

"When did you figure this out?"

She looked away; I actually grabbed for her, grabbed her shoulder to get her attention. Her attention came back to me immediately; she put her hand on _my_ shoulder and dug four fingers into the back of my shoulderblade, where I was bruised badly. I let out a strangled groan and let her go.

"Don't grab for me," she said mildly. "I figured it out close to a month ago. When we had two full weeks together without either one of us needing to travel."

"You should have said something then."

Her fingers tightened, and I cringed. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I really am. But we don't match, not really. I need someone who doesn't push me past my limit every single time, and you..." She let me go, finally, and I let out a gasp and sat back. "I don't know what you need, but I know it's not me."

* * *

She was right then, and so I don't think about it much now. In the end, I don't think any amount of talking would have made us a good match. And I don't think I could have kept up being broken that way forever, either. It adds up. Sooner or later I'd snap, and the results would be... unpleasant. Mostly for me. Partly for whoever'd been breaking me, I'd imagine.

I get her inside, and stretch out on the couch; she stretches out next to me, and I end up spooning up against her back, with my back pressed up to the back of the couch, cradling her in an arm while the other arm keeps my head propped up so I can watch her. She's not moving much. She's not really crying on my shoulder.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I ask her. She sighs, and nods, and then goes silent again. I nudge her, squeezing her a little tighter. "Talk," I insist. "You didn't come here to stay quiet all night long."

"I want something that _lasts_ ," she says. "I want to be able to stop _looking_."

I hold her close, then, and rest my cheek against her shoulder. I know that feeling. Part of what was so good about belonging to her was not having to _look_ anymore. Not having to wonder. We never actually lived together -- between her job and mine, we never got more than two weeks together at any one time -- but I always knew I had somewhere to go. I had someone who was willing to break me hard enough, if I could just wait until we caught up to each other.

I've discovered, over the last six months -- time I've spent looking for boys to call _mine_ and generally glimpsing around at people who might be worth going down for -- I'm too much of a switch to settle for being owned. Maybe even to settle for owning. I suspect _settling_ , in general, is not a part of my nature. I'm glad patience is -- I remember Eris telling me she didn't know what I needed, and frankly, neither do I, but I can wait on it.

I don't try to coax words out of her after that; she'll give them to me when she's ready to give them to herself. She doesn't cry on me, not in any literal sense, but I can feel her sinking into me and taking strength from being near me.

I wonder if it means something to her, knowing she's got one boy she can come back to for things like this. And then I start wondering if she's got any boys other than me she can come back to _at all_. How many boys has she had? How does it end? Has it always ended like this? Who's she had to hold her when something ends?

I tighten my arm and feel her exhale. I press my lips to a spot just under her ear. "It's all right," I murmur. "You don't have to know what all the answers are."

She doesn't move, doesn't make any sound. But that does it for her, somehow, and she rests in my arms, letting it go, letting tears spill over. She lets herself grieve, and I hold her until it passes.

This isn't how I'll do it, I suspect. It isn't how I'll want to let things go. Part of me wonders how far I'll go, grieving, and part of me is glad I don't know what I'll do yet. I don't know what my limits are. I don't know where the road ends. I'll find out someday, but... not until I need it.


	3. Promotion

"I need a favor. Call me? Love always."

Geils doesn't need to check the caller ID to figure out who left the message; the sound of her voice is enough, and it's enough to make him grin, especially with the closing. He picks up the phone and dials -- she's one of the people on his speed dial, of course, and when she picks up, he grins wider. "Eris, it's Geils. Got your message."

"Geils. God, it's good to hear from you. _Asshole_. Where've you been?"

"Montana," Geils answers easily. "Had a six-month contract in the middle of nowhere."

"You couldn't have sent me a postcard?"

"Just would've made me ache for you. If you're gonna torment me, I want you doing it in person."

Eris laughs. "Yeah. Well, talking of that."

"Were we talking about that?"

"No, but we were going to sooner or later. Listen. I have a girl."

Geils sits down on his couch and parses that information out. "You have a girl," he repeats. "Training?"

"Right in one. And Geils, she's good. She's going to be very, very good."

"And you want me to take a look at her?"

"I want you to go down for her."

Geils pauses. "I don't do that anymore," he says quietly. "I've got one man I go to for that, and that's it."

"Please--"

"No." Geils tilts his head back and looks up at his ceiling. "I don't switch like that these days."

"I want to give her someone she won't just be able to crush with one hand tied behind her back."

"I've got a little black book," Geils offers, but there's a little more interest in his voice, interest he tries to squash before it can get distracting. "I can give you some names."

"I've _got_ names."

"McPherson?"

"Your McPherson?"

"Yeah." Geils grins a bit in memory; Mac lasted six months with him before Geils recognized it as a bad match, and they parted company.

"She took him out in two days. He broke like glass."

Geils sits up straight. "Did he?"

"Yeah, and then there was Leonard--"

"Don't tell me, I don't want to know." The words come out a lot sharper than Geils means them; he closes his eyes, rubs at them with thumb and forefinger.

"Just give her a weekend. She's not going to break you, not in a weekend, but she needs that. She needs someone who doesn't just break for her."

"If she's not going to break me, why should I bother going?"

Eris lets out an impatient huff of breath. "Because I'm asking. _I'm_ asking. Please."

 _Damn it._ Geils sighs. "You know I'm going to fight her on it?"

"Of course I know you're--"

"If I can break her down, I'll do it."

"I know. Saturday morning?"

"Friday night. I'll be over at ten."

"Thanks, Geils. It'll be good seeing you again."

"Yeah, it will. Eris -- she's on her own with me. You don't give her hints on it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Right, then. I'll see you Friday night."

Geils hangs up and lets his head fall against the cushions. He tosses the phone onto the coffee table. "Eris and her girls," he murmurs. "Christ, how do I let her talk me into these things?"

* * *

Geils shows up on Friday night in casual clothing. He parks his car on the street in front of Eris's house and walks up to the front door. Eris's house is still ten minutes away, and it was nice driving over without having to worry about how long it was going to take for once; years back, it was his ass if it took longer than seven minutes to get here, traffic be damned.

Eris opens the door, smiling. "Good to see you," she says. "Come in?"

Geils gives a quick look to the threshold and grins; he steps in, feeling somewhat awkward about it. It's the first time he's _walked_ into her home, and he likes the feel of it; he likes the novelty. She hooks a finger between the buttons of his shirt and tugs him down a bit, and he kisses her.

He gets lost in it, going a little breathless, and from the way the crook of her finger tightens, he can tell she's doing the same. Well, now. That's unexpected.

But Eris has the presence of mind to pull away; she clears her throat and shakes her head. "Her name's Anne."

"Does she know about us?"

"No. I thought it might be better if she didn't. At least not before she gets you under her. Better not to have expectations in place."

"Mm-hm." Geils puts his hands in his pockets; it keeps him from reaching for her, which is suddenly more difficult than he expected. "What are _you_ expecting here?"

"I think you'll throw her. I think she'll keep it together pretty well, considering. And I think you'll like being under her."

"Is she like you?"

Eris shakes her head again, smiling. She looks down at the floor. "Not much," she admits.

" _Hnn._ " It's a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat, but it means something; Eris raises an eyebrow but doesn't react otherwise.

"You've had dinner?" Eris asks.

"Yeah. Enough with the introductions, Eris. Is your girl ready?"

"Is this him?"

It's a new voice, a clear one, higher than Eris's, and Geils turns around slowly, not betraying any particular emotion. Eris's girl -- Anne, Geils remembers -- is shorter than Eris, slighter, with long blonde hair that falls nearly to her waist. She's wearing a dress -- something Geils has never seen from Eris at all -- and looks delicate. It's a dark green dress, very simple, doesn't appear to get in her way, but all the same, the look is definitely meant to be distracting. It's meant to keep him off-guard, and get him underestimating her.

Not likely. She's Eris's girl. Geils has an idea what he's getting into.

"I'm Geils," he says. Her gaze flicks from him to Eris, and then back. "And you're Anne."

"And if I want you to say another word, I'll tell you so." Her eyebrows go up just a fraction of an inch. "There's a hall to your left. Down the hall, third door on the left. Go."

Geils looks from Anne to Eris, and takes off, steps still casual. Eris nods to Miranda and walks into the kitchen, putting a good amount of distance between herself and Anne's room. Anne doesn't even seem to notice Eris anymore; she heads for the back room, gliding.

* * *

Eris made herself a cup of hot chocolate when the screaming started.

It took longer than she expected. She expected Anne to figure out just how rough Geils wanted it within a matter of hours; instead, it took the better part of a day. It's Saturday afternoon, and Eris doesn't think either Anne or Geils has slept in that time.

The door's closed, and neither one has come out, either. There's a bathroom; there's a small refrigerator, and there's food. Eris might not see either of them before the weekend's over.

Another faint scream from the other end of the house. Eris winces and tries to put it aside. She's got her hands curled around her mug, and the chocolate's a little too hot to drink, but she focuses on the liquid anyway, pursing her lips and blowing on the surface while Geils's screams echo off the walls.

* * *

Anne is counting. She's got a steel-tipped flogger in her hand, and Geils is chained to the wall. Not just cuffed; Anne finally figured out that leather doesn't do it for Geils. He's in chains, and the ends of the chain are padlocked together with a heavy steel lock.

It was the Gates that tipped her off; the sounds Geils was making were different from everything else he'd emitted up 'til then, and when she put her hand around his cock and squeezed, when the cool metal dug into her hand, his cock, the base of his balls, it clicked. All at once and very suddenly.

She unbuckled his cuffs, told him to stay put, and slapped on steel handcuffs instead. Geils's eyes finally gave her an expression to work with -- rounder than she'd seen before, and there was a jump in his pulse that she identified even though he wasn't breathing hard. She grinned at that, grinned widely, and murmured, " _There's_ something." And hearing her voice made Geils take in a breath and hold it; Anne hasn't been talking very much.

Geils is good. Good enough that Anne wondered at first if she was going to get a real reaction out of him by the end of the weekend. He was behaving, playing along, but it was obviously just play, and Anne had to struggle not to let that rattle her. It's been easy up 'til now. Too easy. Anne wonders if Eris has any idea how close Anne came to deciding none of this was worth it.

"Twenty-five," Anne says; her entire body moves forward with the stroke. Geils lets out another scream, and shakes hard. The chains rattle under his arms. Anne comes forward and runs a hand down his side, from his shoulder to his hip, her thumb trailing into the blood on his back. "Is that enough?" she murmurs.

Geils doesn't answer. He rests his head against the wall and concentrates on breathing. Anne digs her fingernails into his hip, and gets a muffled grunt out of him. "I can hurt you and make you love it," she says; her teeth are clenched. "I want to see you _broken_."

"Anne..."

" _Damn_ it." Anne releases the grip she's had on Geils's hip and slaps him hard, the flat of her hand against his ass, the sound sharp against the rough panting of Geils's breath. "We are not going back to square one, boy. We are _not_ starting over. I'm close with you." _Tell me I'm close._

"I'm not here to break for you," Geils gets out.

Anne's fingers slide into Geils's hair and wrench his head back; he cries out sharply, but doesn't try to pull away. "You are here for whatever the hell I say you are," Anne hisses.

"Who are you telling?" Geils breathes. "Me or you?"

" _Fucker._ " Anne slams Geils's head back into the wall, drawing another grunt out of him. "Suppose I decide to leave you here. You've earned some sleep. Four hours in chains. Would you take them?"

" _You_ need four hours off, Anne. Not me. Don't fool yourself into thinking you're getting somewhere." Geils straightens his posture. "You need time off to think about what you've got and to think about how to get where you're going."

"I don't think I like you," Anne says; there's hardly any inflection to her voice at all. "What if we're done here?"

"Have you learned anything?" Geils asks.

Anne steps back, paces a bit, swings her flogger through the air again. "You're bleeding," she points out. "I've learned I can bring someone to blood without breaking him or scaring him."

Geils's voice hardens. "You can hurt me. Play your cards right and maybe you can scare me. But if you want to break me, you have to earn it. I'm not going to _give_ it to you. What's it worth to either of us if I do that?"

"Bastard," Anne whispers to herself, closing her eyes. "Shut up."

"Listen to me. _Listen._ There are people out there who are tougher than me. There are subs who will fight you for every fucking breath you want them to take. There are boys out there who want you to push them hard and never fucking stop. Do you even know what you want, Anne?"

"Goddamnit." Anne tosses the flogger away and gets the key to Geils's chains. She flips open the padlock and gets him down, freeing one arm at a time and pulling him back to lean against her. He grunts hard as the cuts on his back come into contact with her flesh, and she pushes him over to the bed, where she forces him face-up, staining the sheets with his blood. "I know what I want," she hisses.

"Tell me," Geils growls. He pushes his arms up above his head and curls his fingers into the edge of the mattress. "Tell me and let me work for it _with_ you."

"It doesn't work that way," Anne insists. She tugs her skirt up around her hips and straddles him, grinding down against his cock. He's hard, at least; that's something. "You're here because I want you here. You're going to give me what I want from you." Her hands reach out, and her fingertips clamp down hard on his nipples.

Geils grunts out a choked noise, and his fingers tighten so hard Anne can see the cords of his muscles going tense all the way up to his shoulders. "I can't give it to you if I don't know what it is," Geils growls out. His eyes close as her grip tightens even further, and the words stop.

"I could tell you." A rough twist; Geils arches up off the bed, rasped breath coming out through clenched teeth. "But maybe then you'd just give it to me, and I'd never know if I got to you or not."

"Does that seem likely?" Geils grunts. Anne's fingers ease off his nipples, and she bends down to flick her tongue out over one of them. He grunts again, and she drags the flat of her tongue against it, slowly, softly, almost no pressure -- just warmth and the soft pulse of her breath against reddened skin.

"Yes," Anne whispers. She switches her attention to the other nipple, and Geils gasps. "Because you know -- and I know -- that what I really want is to get to you. And what I want you to _do_ is just a sign that I have. If I tell you--" She bites down hard, and Geils arches up again, twisting once before realizing that only makes her teeth dig in harder. She lets up after a few seconds, and he drops to the bed, panting. "Then you can give it to me, and make it meaningless. I don't want that."

"I don't want that, either," Geils whispers. He closes his eyes and tries to take a breath just to rest. Anne doesn't allow it; her teeth come down on his nipple again, and Geils lets out a choked scream.

"So we won't be doing that," Anne whispers, flicking her tongue out across his reddened flesh before sitting up. "You get four hours to sleep. Shower first." She nods toward the bathroom. "Go on." She pushes off him and leaves the room, glancing at the clock. 4:15.

Eris is waiting in the kitchen with a cup of hot tea when Anne comes out. "How's it going?" Eris asks.

"I don't know," Anne whispers. She sits down heavily, and her hands shake as she takes the tea. "He's good. Where did you find him?"

"Does it matter?" Eris asks. "How are you doing?"

Anne shakes her head. "It's so obvious this is a training exercise. I know I can get to him if I have long enough, but he won't let me in. He's playing with me."

Eris only nods, tapping her fingers against the side of her teacup.

"You knew he was going to be like this, didn't you?"

Another nod.

"Damn it." Anne picks up her teacup and presses the porcelain against her forehead, taking in some of the warmth, then puts the cup back down and curls her fingers around it. "There's _something_ there. He _wants_ to break for me. I can see that much."

"If you've gotten that far with him, maybe that's enough."

"It's _not_ enough," Anne snaps. "He's _playing_ with me. I want that look in his eyes that says he's just playing along _gone_."

"You've been given far too much," Eris murmurs. "You're getting rattled. Calm down."

"I'm not--"

" _Girl._ " Eris's voice is firm. "Calm down."

Anne slumps back into her chair. "Yes, Ma'am," she murmurs.

"Better. Not _good_ , but better."

Anne straightens her posture. "I'm sorry, Eris."

"Mm-hm." Eris takes another sip of tea. "How long are you giving him?"

"Four hours."

"Take a bath," Eris suggests. "Or a cold shower. Do something to get yourself calmed down. You need the four hours as much as he does."

"That's what _he_ said," Anne mutters.

"What did he say?"

"He said I needed time off to think about what I'd gotten and how to get where I'm going," Anne bites out. She closes her eyes and then presses her fingertips, all ten of them, to the surface of the kitchen table. "Fucker."

Eris keeps her gaze steady on Anne, not saying anything. Anne blows out a breath.

"All right. All right, he's not wrong. But _fuck_ if I wanted to hear it from the boy I'm breaking."

"He's not--" Eris taps her fingertips against the side of her teacup again. "He asked me not to tell you anything."

"I bet he did. He likes metal." Anne's eyebrows tilt up. "He likes metal and he likes screaming."

Eris still says nothing. Her eyes are trained on the table.

"All right." Anne presses her palms to the table and pushes herself to her feet. "I'm going to take that cold shower. And a nap. And then I'll get started again."

"Good girl," Eris murmurs. Anne leaves her tea behind, and Eris takes it off the table and carries it to the sink.

* * *

"Geils? It's me."

Geils comes awake slowly, blinking his eyes open. "Eris?" he murmurs. He glances over at the clock: 8:30. "Where's Anne?"

"Still out. She needs more than four hours. Sit up."

Geils sits up obediently and hisses as the sheet pulls free from the blood on his back. "Christ," he murmurs. "She's not bad, Eris. What are you doing here?"

"I just..." She pushes a cup of tea into his hands. "Wanted to see how you were doing."

"All right." Geils sips at the tea; it's warm enough to be comforting, not so hot it'll burn. "I'm all right, Eris. Why are you _really_ here?"

Eris reaches out, then pauses; reaches out again, then lets her fingers trail through Geils's hair. "I'm worried about you. She's not happy, and I think she's going to get unpredictable if she doesn't get what she wants out of you soon."

Geils catches Eris's hand and holds it steady. "Stop. You wouldn't be warning Mac or Les about this. And you wouldn't have gotten either one of them up with a glass of tea." He presses the cup back into her hand. "You're cheating, Eris."

"Fuck you, Geils." Eris takes the tea back and pushes herself back off the bed. "This was a bad idea. You. Her. Bad idea."

"I'm giving her exactly what you thought I would. I'm not breaking. I'm challenging her. What's the problem?"

"Can I be worried?" Eris asks. "Is it all right that I'm worried?"

"About who?"

"Damn it -- both of you. All right? Both of you."

"Stop." Geils forces himself to the edge of the bed and grabs for Eris's hand. "If it's about our safety, either one of us, then yeah, you get to be worried. But you know and I know that she's not going to take it that far, no matter how rattled she gets. She's going to hurt me the way I want to get hurt, and if she figures out how to do it in a way I'm willing to beg for, we'll be done. If she doesn't, then it ends in--" He double-checks the clock. "Another twenty-six hours, give or take. Now c'mon. You _know_ I can do this. You know what I'm capable of taking. You worried she's in over her head with me?"

"I don't--" Eris shakes her head. "Maybe."

"Like you were?"

"Not fair. _Not_ fair."

Geils shrugs, though it's obvious the motion hurts. "Not here to get into a fight like that with you. Eris, go back to the library. Get yourself a book and settle in. She's not going to do it. And you have nothing to feel guilty for."

Eris grips the teacup hard. "I hate it when you're right," she mutters. "I just want you getting out of here without being shattered."

"I'm not going to shatter," Geils says quietly. "Get out of here."

"I should never have called you."

"She needed me. Someone like me. Who else did you have in mind if I'd said no?"

Eris drinks the rest of Geils's tea and shakes her head. "Promise me you'll be all right."

"Eris, think about it." Geils waits until he gets her eyes back. "I'll be fine."

Eris heads out of the room, and Geils stretches back out, on his stomach this time. 8:35. _If she's expecting to fuck me up by making me wait, she's underestimating me._ Geils closes his eyes and sinks back into sleep.

* * *

"Son of a bitch." Anne glares at the clock as if shooting daggers at it will convince it to turn back an hour. 9:00, and she's been sleeping through the buzzing of the alarm. She flicks the clock off and shoves herself up off the bed. She's not awake enough to go back for him yet, and she knows it. All right -- cold shower first, and then back to work. Anne nods. It'll do.

At 9:15 she's awake and aware, and she's ready to get started again. Geils is sleeping, face-down, and Anne settles herself over his hips. He comes awake as soon as he feels her weight on her, but by then she has both hands pressed into the cuts on his back and her fingernails are digging in. He hisses, but doesn't move or plead with her to stop.

"You got an extra hour," Anne murmurs. "How are you feeling, boy? Ready to keep going?"

"Yes," Geils whispers.

"Good." Anne lifts her weight off him and puts her hand under his shoulder, pulling him up and forcing him to turn over on his back. She settles down on him again and draws her hands up his arms, pushing them up to the rails at the top of the bed. "You want to hold on or you want to be cuffed down? Up to you."

Geils lifts an eyebrow, more than a bit suspicious with an offer like that staring him in the face. "What's your plan?"

"I'm going to make you beg to scream for me. I think I'd better cuff you." She knows full well the cuffs will push him toward the edge. If she had more time, she'd get him there without the handicap, but nearly a day's gone already; she's pulling out all the stops. She reaches over to the nightstand and gets out the handcuffs, snapping them over one wrist, threading them through the rails, then snapping them on the other.

"Fuck," Geils whispers. The look in Anne's eyes means something. It's more certain than she's been all weekend, and his entire body twitches hard; the handcuffs rattle against the bedrails.

"You don't want to move that much," Anne murmurs. She draws her skirt up over her thigh, and Geils freezes solid. She has a knife strapped to her leg, and it's a nasty, curved one with a serrated edge on the back. It's matte black, it's gorgeous, and he watches her draw it up above his chest, her hands coming together to test the blade against her thumb. He watches as a pinprick of blood comes up, and she licks it off, almost delicately. "You play with knives, Geils?"

"Yes," Geils breathes.

"Do you want me to cut you?"

Geils's eyes close, and he doesn't answer. Anne can hear his breath cresting in and out of his throat, and she grins. She grinds down hard against his cock. Oh, he's hard. Hard, and he must be _aching_ right now. Good.

Her hand lashes out, lightly, and catches him across the cheek. "Answer."

"Yes," Geils whispers.

"What do you like about getting cut?" Anne asks. "You hesitate in answering me again, boy, and you can fucking walk home; we're done."

"I like blood," Geils growls out.

"What else?" Anne's knife comes down and scrapes lightly over the skin of Geils's pec; he holds his breath, nearly shivering as he feels the edge. So close. Not _there_ yet.

"I like--" Geils gets his eyes open. "I like being that fucking aware of my skin. That it's under someone else's hands."

"You like being forced into trust," Anne breathes.

"Cut me," Geils says, very softly. "Please."

 _There._ Anne closes her eyes for a moment and lets out a long, satisfied breath. "Ask me again," she whispers.

"Cut me. Please."

"Good boy." Anne's eyes open, and she draws the knife across Geils's chest, hard enough to mark and leave a white trail in her wake, but not hard enough to break the skin. "Ask me again."

"Fucking please cut me, Anne," Geils moans; his voice shakes with it.

"There we go. Good boy," Anne says. The knife moves across Geils's skin again, and this time it leaves a red trail. Two inches. Three. Four. Anne stops there, and lifts the blade up again, using the flat of the blade to pick up a drop of Geils's blood. "You're there, Geils."

Geils doesn't answer. His eyes are trained on Anne's blade, and the way the blood glistens on the edge.

"Tell me what you want," Anne breathes.

"I want to taste it," Geils says. "Please."

Anne grins. "You earned it," she murmurs, and she holds the knife up to his lips. "Take your taste, boy."

Geils slides his tongue across the blade, slowly, carefully. He licks his blood into his mouth, and moans.

Anne puts the knife down and crawls down the bed so she can wrap her hand around Geils's cock. "I want you to come for me," she whispers. "Come screaming."

"Oh fucking Christ _yes_ \--" Geils doesn't need the instruction; he's coming, and he's screaming, and Anne laughs as she feels his come spilling over her hand. His breath rushes out of him hard and fast, and Anne holds still until his breathing comes back to normal.

"There," Anne whispers. "Good boy." She leans over to the side of the bed and grabs up a handkerchief to clean her hand off. She can't help smirking down at him. "Should I let you up?" she grins.

"You should let my wrists go," Geils murmurs. "And you'll need to get something for the cut. Neosporin, gauze." He grimaces; he's got too much hair on his chest to look forward to having the gauze taped down.

"Goddamnit." Anne shoves off the bed and rummages in the drawer for handcuff keys. "I didn't fucking get to you at all, did I?" She thrusts the key into the lock hard, jerking Geils's wrist out of the cuffs.

"You got to me fine," Geils grins up at her. "I got to you better."

She pauses with her hand on the second cuff and shakes her head, finally laughing a bit. "Son of a bitch," she says. "You are tough as fucking steel, you know that?"

"Eris knows that," Geils says softly. "Thank you." He pulls his wrists down and rubs at them. "You want to get the gauze?"

"Yeah. I'll be back in a minute."

Anne walks out of the room, and nearly runs into Eris, who's leaning against the wall just outside the door. "How is he?" Eris asks.

"Well, he begged." Anne runs a hand through her hair. "But he came right out of it when it was done. Is he always like that? Do you know?"

"You got him as far as I would have expected you to. I'm proud of you, girl." Eris is holding gauze, and she brings it into Anne's view. "You mind if I patch him up?"

Anne hesitates. Yes, she minds; this is her job. No, she doesn't mind; Eris is her mistress. "Go ahead," Anne says softly. She puts a hand on Eris's shoulder. "Eris -- how do you know him?"

"He was mine once," Eris murmurs. "Before I found out I don't do well if I love the people I'm breaking."

" _Oh._ " Anne leans forward and brushes her cheek against Eris's. "Go take care of him," she says. "Come see me when he's gone."

Eris nods. It should feel strange, taking orders like this from her girl, but she doesn't question it. She heads into the room to patch Geils up, only a little unsteady.

Anne makes her way upstairs and pulls her hair back from her face, tying it up in a loose ponytail. She leans forward and stares at her reflection in the mirror for several seconds.

 _You don't have to give it up. You just have to find someone who makes you work for it._

Her eyes drop, and she smiles. She will, someday; it's just a matter of patience.


End file.
